


Temerity

by GreyPezzola



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dwarf Appreciation Week (Dragon Age), F/M, Purple Hawke, good consent practices, set in inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-03 07:45:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11527746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyPezzola/pseuds/GreyPezzola
Summary: It’s a scene he’s described many times before in many contexts.  The night is still and the candlelight flickers in the reflection of various bottles.  The two of them sit at the bar, secluded in the corner, the rest of the world seemingly forgot.  Hawke’s eyes sparkle in the low light as she smiles slowly and secretively.“Did you really mean what you said? About being in love with me?” she asks softly.





	Temerity

**Author's Note:**

> Posted for Dwarf Appreciation Week 2017.
> 
> I haven't actually played Inquisition due to not having a system that can handle it. So if I've got some details wrong, it's because my friends are really trying to avoid me seeing spoilers. (It's too late though, I know I'm going to be crushed by the fact I can't romance Scout Harding.)

Hawke had arrived in the late evening and, after initial introductions had been made by him, had immediately been thrown into meetings with the inquisitor and her council.It wasn't that Varric resented how desperately her influence was needed, it was more that, well, he was nervous.He had missed Hawke, she was one of his dearest friends, but Varric wasn’t sure how this reunion would actually go.

He’d tried to distract himself, but his heart wasn’t into cheating at cards nor was his head in the right place to read or write.Still, he finds himself awake far into the small hours of the morning.It’s his favorite time of night, the world is a bit quieter and people are prone to be far more honest, or dishonest, both of which made for an interesting time.Yet here he was, sitting at his desk fighting the dull buzz of anxiety that filled his brain.

“Oh, mother of a nug-humping bastard!” he curses, dropping his quill onto the desk.It’s pointless for him to try to continue, but he knows sleep is going to evade him, even if he tries.

There’s a chuckle from behind him, “Hate to disappoint, but I am not quite any of those things.Though, I think that is an insult I have not been called yet.”Hawke is leaning against his doorframe, arms crossed loosely with an amused expression on her face.She’s still in her leather pants from the road, but her more formal chest plate has been removed.

“Hawke, when did you—” His heart simultaneously leaps in his chest and plummets to his feet.It’s a very uncomfortable experience, but here she is.Between her dark circles and the smudges of dirt on her, it’s clear she’s worn from her travels, but her grin matches his and she seems to be just as happy to see him.

“Well, your door was open and after I had my ear talked off by the inquisition I could really use a drink.” she shrugs, straightening herself.

“The tavern is probably closed,” Varric says, standing up and slinging on his jacket.

“Like that ever stopped us.” she says with her usual teasing tone.

Varric chuckles, “Figured I’d give you the opportunity to maintain a somewhat decent reputation with the inquisitor before I offered.”

“If she knows you, I think my reputation has been thoroughly sullied.No need to keep up pretenses.” She smiles down at him.They chat about nothing particularly serious.Her trip was long and uneventful and she only heard a few erroneous tales about her.Varric laughs at that and then he tells her that apparently Cassandra, “that’s the one who dragged me in for questioning”, is quite the fan of his work.That gives Hawke a good laugh and then she mentions that Fenris has officially banned reading any of Varric’s work for practice.

“The stuff about me is weird and he gets frustrated at your artistic license and your other literature is… well,” she says.They arrive at the tavern and sure enough, it is dark.He reaches into a pocket a draws out his set of picks and sets to work.

“Aw, he didn’t like Hard in Hightown?”

“Initially he liked it, you have quite the flair for description, but once he realized you had written it, he got uncomfortable.” The lock clicks and they share a conspiratorial smile.

Varric enters, looking around until he finds a lamp in the low light.“So my works are damned by association.” he strikes a match and lights the lamp so Hawke can see where she’s going.They make their way to the bar and light a few of the candles there.It gives their corner of the bar a warm glow.

It’s a scene he’s described many times before in many contexts.The night is still and the candlelight flickers in the reflection of various bottles.The two of them sit at the bar, secluded in the corner, the rest of the world seemingly forgot.Hawke’s eyes sparkle in the low light as she smiles slowly and secretively.If Varric was merely a character in a story he was writing, he wouldn’t be quite sure what to say.Sure he would write that his mouth had gone dry at the sight of her sauntering around the bar, but is she merely walking with her usual confident sway, or is it the exhaustion from traveling that is making her walk so fluidly, or is it something more?Is the correct adjective for how she reaches up to grab a bottle from the shelf so careful because she is sore from the road, or is the movement achingly slow just so he can see the full length of her neck?

But if he were a character of his own creation, he would write about the incredible heaviness in the air.Something hangs in the air between them, something electric and uncertain, and it makes each action of Hawke’s seem to last an eternity.Hawke’s muscled arms ripple as she pulls the cork from the bottle, each bend of her wrist is fluid as she pours, and each inhale of breath makes the shadows hug her form.It all makes Varric very glad he really doesn’t write romances, well, at least slow ones.

Hawke slides him his glass and re-corks the bottle.“So we should talk Varric.”

His throat goes dry and the anxiety from earlier climbs up it to crawl back into his skull.“Uh, yes.”

Hawke picks up her drink, takes a swig, and then makes her way back around the bar.Her soft footfalls are the only noise in the heavy silence that stretches between them.He takes the opportunity to take a drink himself; the whiskey does nothing to wet his throat.She stops next to where he is sitting and places her glass on the counter.The turn he makes to face her feels more like putting on a noose than facing a friend, but he turns anyway.He’s never been quite sure how she does it, but Hawke looks so confident leaning against the tall bar counter.

“Did you really mean what you said? About being in love with me?” she asks softly.

Varric swallows.He can feel the lie on the tip of his tongue, almost see the plot of that Varric and that Hawke who laugh off any discomfort and go back to what was.He can predict and plan for those two, knows the setup, the foreshadow, to a familiar story that he so desperately wants.But he’s never met someone who defied every genre like Hawke and he knows that he cannot try to change what their story will be.So he puts down his glass, swallows the lie, and says the truth unable to look away from her intense gaze.“Every word.”

“Good,” Hawke says bluntly and he finds himself being pulled forward by his lapels, her lips on his.Varric’s genres are all mixed up, when did this adventure novel bleed into a romance and when did he go from narrator to just a character along for the ride of the plot.Yet what words could Varric ever write that could describe this.The feeling of her lips on his, Hawke’s tight grip keeping him up against her, the way her hair felt between his fingers, the taste of whiskey on her tongue.

When she pulls away so they can breathe, her tight grip on his lapels does not loosen.He’s still not entirely sure what had just happened, but he cannot deny her firm hold on him is grounding.

“Hawke? We going to talk about this?” he asks between breaths of air.

She takes a step forward so she is standing between his knees.“I’m a woman of action, Varric, not words.And Maker knows I’ve talked enough tonight.” Hawke says sharply and then she is kissing him again.He’s described kisses like this before, desperate, demanding, determined, delightful, the whole range, but this kiss is so incredibly like her.How she teases his bottom lip between her teeth before returning back to kissing him.All he can do is hang on and try to give as good as he’s getting as she kisses him.But eventually, they have to breathe once more.

“Fenris?” he asks as she presses her forehead against his as they pant.

“Is happy Isabella owes him 10 sovereigns.She didn’t think you would ever tell me.” She pulls back and smiles at him.

“Figured they would gamble.” He mutters, trying to ignore the blush crossing his cheeks.

Hawke smooths down his lapels, “But Fenris and I have talked and talked and talked.And I am so done with talking.”

“Then, by all means, Hawke, we can talk later.” She grins wickedly at his words.Later, when he will try to remember what happens next as inspiration for one of his more realistic romance novels, he will be unable.He won’t know how he ended up pressed against the bar counter, legs around her waist.He won’t be able to recall who put their hands down the other’s shirt first, just that he had left angry red scratches down her back when she had kissed and bit a trail down his neck.Varric won’t be able to place when she had tugged his ponytail out, but he will remember that their drinks ended up being left on the counter.Regardless, his inability to remember will leave him frustrated and not just because of the writer’s block.But there they are, her muscles tense under his fingers as she pins him to the bar, a hand tangled in his hair. 

When her breath catches when he traces the curve of her shoulder, over her collarbone, to the swell of her breast, Varric pauses.“May I?”

“Yes, just be careful.I got a bit banged up on the way here.” She says, before returning her attentions to his neck where she was working on quite the collection of marks.

“Andraste’s tits, Hawke!Why the hell are we doing this is you’re ‘a bit banged up’.” She pulls away and gives him a look.

“Because honestly Varric, I’d like to be more than a bit banged up.” She says bluntly, pressing herself more firmly against him.

He kisses her, but it's brief and she frowns when he ends it.“Any other night, Waffles, but I’m not willing to continue until I’ve seen the damage.” Hawke nods and they slowly untangle themselves as their hands still wander.

“Come on, let’s go to my room where I have some supplies.”

“Are you sure you’re not just trying to get me in a bed?” she teases, tugging lightly on his hair.Varric chuckles and straightens his clothes

“All in good time.” He says and pulls her down for a lazy kiss.“But the sooner we get there, the sooner I get your shirt off.”

Hawke laughs at that and makes her way to the door.“Well then, come on.” He blows out the candles and follows her out.Once again they chatter on the way to his room, but this time there are surreptitious touches and they are both more relaxed.Varric hadn’t noticed how tense he had been on the journey here, but this time he can appreciate just the act of walking with her late at night as they used to.He hadn’t realized how much he had missed having Hawke around until he’s laughing at a joke she made as they just walk.Sure, there’s a promise of something more between them, but he has to pause to catch her arm.

She looks down at him, “Not having second thoughts, are you?”

“Never, it’s just nice to see you Hawke,” he says.Hawke smiles and inclines her head.No quick quip this time, but sometimes quick wit isn’t needed.The quiet moment passes and they continue on their way, words a bit softer.When they get to his room, he points her to the bed.

“Shirt off, Hawke,” Varric commands, going over to a chest to grab out his traveling gear.

“You could buy get a girl a drink first.” she scoffs, but she starts to peel out of her tunic.

“I just did.You decided not to drink it.” He replies evenly, pulling out his medical gear from a pouch.He turns to face her and finds her mostly tangled in her shirt.Hawke has stopped halfway through removing her tunic to make sure he could see her rolling her eyes.

“You didn’t pay for it.” she says and pulls her shirt off the rest of the way.

“No, just picked the lock for you.” He crosses over to her.There are a few nasty bruises along her torso, a cut that goes from collarbone to just over her heart, what looks like a shallow stab wound, and a few nicks that seem to be from some other event.“How did you get these?”

“I didn’t exactly want to wear my plate up a mountain.” she sniffs.It isn’t the first time he’s seen her without her shirt, nor is this the first time that he’s had to patch her up, but there’s something about the angry scratch marks that wrap around her ribs to just over her hips and the knowledge that he gave her that takes his breath away.She’s just as scarred as he is; he knows many of the stories behind the silver marks that litter her skin, but he has no intention of her gaining a new scar just because there were more enticing activities they could be doing than cleaning and binding her wounds.

Hawke must have noticed how his eyes wandered more than needed to check for her injuries because she leans back on his bed and smirks.“You’re the one who wanted to stop.”

Varric clears his throat and puts the supplies he had gathered on the bed.“Yes.What the hell am I supposed to say? The Champion of Kirkwall risked infection because I was impatient? That is hardly a good story.”

“You could say I had to fight a demon or something.”She hisses and he dabs the cut with some alcohol.“Maker knows that there are enough demons that it’s believable.”

“Boring,” he says.Varric isn’t as overly careful with his hands as he had been in the past, letting fingers brush on her warm skin.They lapse into silence as he carefully cleans the wound and rubs salve into the worst of her bruises. By the time comes to bind her cut, he has to rouse her.“Come on, Hawke.Just a little longer, then you can sleep.”

She mutters something but sits up enough that he can wrap the wound. She starts to say something and he merely murmurs, “Just fucking sleep Hawke.”Then he is taking off her boots, shifting her so he can pull blankets up and over her as she makes a noise of agreement.Then he gets ready to sleep and before he can think twice about it, lays down next to her.Hawke shifts in her sleep and throws an arm over his torso.Varric falls asleep with Hawke snoring softly in his ear and smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Remember folks, consent can be revoked at any time; that's what makes it actually consent.
> 
> This is actually the ending bit to a larger fic that I have half written, but I don't know how to play Wicked Grace so I can't finish the fic... but because it's Dwarf Appreciation Week 2017 and this is done, I figured I'd post it.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it and who knows, maybe at some point, I will finish the first part of this fic. Maybe after I play Inquisition because, you know, I might be missing some pretty key context.


End file.
